Fractured

by Lisa Amowitz

“So you’re saying,” Jeremy said slowly, “that people are going to believe an out-of-town amputee attacked two fit and able-bodied people with his fake leg?”

  The officer didn’t break her gaze. Her partner continued to nod, jowls jiggling. It was clear that these officers had already tried and sentenced Jeremy in their own minds. “You lured them to this dark street, detached your leg, and your girlfriend attacked them with it, is that correct?”

  My head throbbed listening to this insanity. My eyes ached. I searched the ground frantically for a piece of evidence I could offer up that would get the police to listen to reason.

  “He has the right to an attorney,” Gabe said quietly. The officer squinted at her and then returned her steady scrutiny to Jeremy.

  “The bartender at Pisticci’s says you ordered two shots of vodka before you left the restaurant with Ella Wavestone? How old are you? Can I see your ID?”

  Gabe and I exchanged looks and rolled our eyes. In the next instant, Jeremy was handcuffed, helped into another cruiser, and driven off. The entire flashing caravan of police cars and ambulances was gone, leaving Gabe and me alone. Except for the forlorn ghost that lingered in the shadows at the corner of Amsterdam and 123rd.

  Tonight, someone had gotten away with murder.

  I may have solved the crime, but I didn’t think that counted until I could get someone to believe me.

  It was 2:45 AM. Sixty-two hours and counting.

  ◆

  “What’ll we do now?” Gabe asked. Droopy gold strands framed her face like tired sun rays. Her exhaustion showed in her eyes. I could barely keep my own open.

  I pulled her toward me and buried my face in her hair. It would have made the perfect pillow. “I’d love to say that we go back to the apartment, crawl under the covers, and warm each other up, but we don’t have the luxury. Jeremy and Marisa are in jail, and once those Wavestone freaks get out of the hospital, they’ll go free. The police have nothing to connect them to this crime wave.”

  Gabe looked into my eyes and kissed the tip of my nose. “I don’t get why they’d do this. I think I met them both at an open house once. Those kids had everything.”

  “Sometimes everything is too much,” I said grimly. I didn’t understand it either, but I had felt the cold, bottomless rage that flowed from Ella Wavestone as she killed Brittany Byers.

  And I knew, without a doubt, that once they checked Ella out of the hospital, and they would, she’d be out on the streets, free to kill more people.

  Unless I found a way to tie her to the murders.

  “Bobby,” Gabe said. “Why do you think Ella Wavestone stole her father’s ring? Do you think she wanted to embarrass him? Or punish him?”

  “Damned if I know, Gabe,” I said. And it was true. The part about Brendan Wavestone’s ring made no sense. Did Wavestone’s kids want to frame him?

  And, the biggest question of all, the one none of the evidence seemed to answer, was why? Why did the twins target Brittany Byers and Marisa? Had there been other murders?

  I scanned the sidewalks for leads, but the area was too disturbed by the violence that had just taken place and clung to everything like static electricity. Every item was equally charged. It was impossible to single out one piece of evidence from another.

  We started to walk back to our apartment, but I stopped abruptly in my tracks at a dark puddle. Fresh blood.

  I’d never been at a crime scene right after it happened. Never experienced what freshly spilled blood could tell me. Or do to me.

  I squatted and dipped a finger into the pool of dark red. It was sticky and still a little warm.

  Closing my eyes, I waited for the vision to overtake me. Gabe’s hand rested on my shoulder.

  My surroundings vanished. Ella Wavestone’s life began to unfold in a high-speed crazy quilt of images, quickly accelerating into a spinning blur I couldn’t read. It was like paint thrown into a blender. My heart began to race as the whirling colors caught me up in a churning vortex.

  I wanted to shout for help, but my jaws were bound together. I blinked blindly into the whirring mass. Ella Wavestone’s mind was as clean and smooth as ocean glass.

  There was nothing to hold onto.

  Nothing to grab as it sucked me into its hungry mouth.

  I couldn’t breathe.

  I was going to drown this time.

  ◆

  My breath returned in choking gasps, like I’d been underwater too long.

  As my surroundings clarified, I found myself looking up into the face of a man I’d never seen before. Gabe watched me from over the shoulder of his expensive suit, her face drained of color. He fished into his jacket pocket and presented a badge. FBI.

  “Hello, Bobby,” the man said in a rich baritone. “I’m Agent Bill Strauss. And you’re to come with me.”

  As if it appeared with the flip of a switch, a bright smile creased his flawless mocha skin. It was clearly intended to disarm and set me at ease. And for that reason I didn’t trust Agent Strauss at all.

  “What happened?”

  “Nothing to worry about,” the agent said briskly. In one swift motion, he’d pulled me to my feet and, before I could protest, ushered Gabe and me into the black car with dark-tinted windows that waited by the curb, its engine running. Agent Reston sat in the back seat, facing forward.

  “Good evening, Bobby. Gabriella,” she said, without turning toward us.

  “What’s going on? Where are you taking us?” I jiggled the door handle. But it had already been locked. The windows were so dark I couldn’t see out. We were trapped.

  The driver, Agent Reston’s usual sidekick, remained silent. From the front passenger seat, Agent Strauss swiveled around to whisper something to Agent Reston that caused her red lips to quirk into an actual smile and for her to laugh girlishly, showing her small perfect teeth.

  Gabe and I shared a look. We held hands and squeezed.

  And the car took off.

  32

  Bobby

  Sunday: 3:55 AM

  We’d been driving for over an hour. Since the windows were blackened, I had no idea where they were taking us. Agent Reston offered us bottled water, but mostly stared straight ahead into her dark world. On occasion she’d laugh when Agent Strauss turned and whispered something unintelligible to her.

  Gabe looked at me cross-eyed, then stifled a snicker. “Fun and games behind the scenes at the FBI,” she whispered in my ear. “Agent X is hot for Agent Y.”

  I covered my mouth to hold in my own laugh. From the way she’d involuntarily stroked her thigh, it was clear that Agent Reston liked the sound of that seductive baritone very much. The idea of her having human urges seemed less believable than the sight of a unicorn galloping through Times Square.

  The drive droned on, lulling both Gabe and me to sleep. We woke abruptly as the car came to a smooth stop. We could have been sleeping for an hour, or it could have been five.

  Agent Reston sat erect in her seat, her regal profile turned to us. I wondered if she had mastered the art of sleeping with her eyes open, since for her it was all the same thing.

  Agent Strauss came around to open our door and helped us out of the car, then asked us to please wait on the sidewalk while he helped Agent Reston. They returned with her gripping his arm, her head held high as if she were being escorted to a grand ball. Her mouth curved up in a satisfied smile and I began to wonder if Agent Reston had been blind so long she forgot her expressions showed on her face.

  I shook my head and cut a sideways glance at Gabe. She squeezed my hand and looked down, squelching her own nervous smile. There was nothing funny about our situation. From the relaxed way Agent Strauss had left us unguarded to flirt with his hot blind colleague, it was obvious he didn’t expect us to run, and wasn’t too worried if we did.

  The sun was just about rising over the nondescript city we found ourselves in. I decided it must be Albany. My dad had taken me and Coco there once to see a wrestling match before he’d gone t
o Iraq. But it could have been Boston. I wasn’t sure. Or Hartford. Or Newark. Or any smaller city within four hours’ driving distance from New York.

  Basically, I tried to think about anything other than why we were here.

  We were standing in front of a glass-fronted tower as the sun came up, our own reflections staring back at us from the blue-tinted glass. The doors whooshed open, and we followed Agents Strauss and Reston inside.

  I wondered if this was going to be the last daylight I’d see. If they were going to lock me up, or maybe just kill me off.

  I’d failed miserably and only succeeded in stirring up trouble for everyone.

  I gnashed my teeth in frustration. I should have sent Gabe home when I had the chance. It was selfish of me to let her linger while I prowled the sidewalks. And now she was caught up in this ridiculous mess. I didn’t even want to think about what had become of Jeremy and Marisa.

  I thought back to what had happened just before Agent Strauss had scooped us off the street in Harlem. I’d dipped a finger into Ella Wavestone’s fresh blood—blood shed at a crime scene.

  I should have been able to learn something about her from that blood. Yet it was as if I’d been blocked from entering the vision. As if Ella Wavestone’s mind was an empty room furnished only with shadows. I wondered if Agent Reston’s so-called treatment had anything to do with that.

  Clutching Agent Strauss’s arm, she sashayed like a prom queen past the guards to an elevator bank.

  The elevator shot silently up to the 35th floor. We entered a huge carpeted space surrounded by floor to ceiling windows. A prim young woman with a headset sat behind a horseshoe-shaped desk. She waved us by and we were led through featureless white halls to a blank-walled conference room, completely dominated by the massive glass table at its center.

  After he’d helped Agent Reston to her seat, Strauss motioned for us to sit, then took his place of the head of table. Occasionally his gaze would wander to Agent Reston, who had so far failed to knock the smug grin from her face.

  I cleared my throat and drummed my fingers on the glass. Gabe looked at me, eyes wide, and clamped her hand on mine, pressing it to the table. “Stay calm, baby,” she whispered. “We can do this.”

  But I wasn’t having it. “Where the hell are we?” I blurted, rising from my chair. “You can’t just snatch us off the street and spirit us away. People will notice we’re gone! We’ve got families!”

  “Bear with us, Bobby,” Agent Strauss said wearily. Agent Reston’s eyebrow lifted slightly, but the smile remained. It felt like they were planning some kind of sick surprise party in my honor. “Everything will be explained. But first, we want you to meet someone.”

  A panel in the bare wall slid open sideways. Dressed in a cream-colored suit, Brendan Waveston walked in alongside a woman with extravagant copper curls piled high atop her head. Her tight black sequined gown looked like it had been painted onto her.

  I turned to Gabe, about to ask who the floozy was, but she had already shot out of her chair and was halfway around the table.

  “Mother!”

  With the scent of her expensive perfume filling my nostrils, I should have recognized Isabella Sorensen the minute she waltzed into the room as if she was walking onstage. She looked like an older, nip-tucked version of Gabe.

  Both Agent Strauss and Agent Reston stood to shake hands with the new arrivals.

  Isabella Sorensen settled next to Gabe and began talking at a furious clip in hushed tones, totally ignoring me.

  “Thank you so much for taking care of my darling,” she looked up and said to the agents breathily. Then she turned her gaze on me. From the way her black eyes flashed and her lips pursed, I could tell she believed I was the chief danger her daughter needed protection from.

  She placed a protective hand on Gabe’s arm. “I’ve got a room in the best hotel in this horrid city. I’ll have your bags retrieved from campus. I think it’s best we leave directly from here for the house in Vienna for a bit of peace and quiet before you go back to the academy.”

  “Mother!” Gabe said, wrenching her arm free. “I’m not going. I want to be with Bobby!”

  “Bobby,” Isabella Sorensen said coldly, pronouncing my name as if it was a variety of poisonous spider. “Let’s have a chat, honey. The agents need a little private time with Bobby and Brendan.”

  Mrs. Sorensen was on a first-name basis with him, I thought. I glanced over at Wavestone, who was in an animated conversation with Agent Strauss.

  Gabe cast me a desperate glance as her mother tugged her out of the room.

  “Bobby Pendell,” Agent Strauss said, “I’m sure you’ve heard of Brendan Wavestone. Mr. Wavestone, meet Bobby.”

  “Pleasure is all mine,” said Wavestone, leaning over to grip my hand. I was shocked by the momentary tingle that shot through my palm when our skin touched. A cloud swept across Wavestone’s high-voltage smile, but vanished so quickly that I had to wonder if I’d seen it at all. “Agent Strauss tells me you’ve recovered my ring,” he said smoothly, giving no sign that we’d already given it back to him.

  “Yes, ah,” I said, baffled. “But I, uh, don’t have it with me.”

  “Not a problem,” Wavestone said. “Its value is only sentimental. Which is why Ella stole it from me. My apologies for the trouble she and her brother Ellis caused. They were always…difficult children.”

  I pressed my lips together, unsure how to respond. When Wavestone had called his children “troubled,” it had never occurred to me they were the ones behind the recent crime spree. Though I was certain Brendan Wavestone would leap to their defense, that they’d be back on the streets in no time, I allowed a small measure of hope to bloom in my chest. If the Wavestones were at least arraigned for the crime, then maybe I was free. For now. Still, the thing I couldn’t figure is why the Wavestone twins hadn’t killed Marisa.

  “I just wanted to thank you for your service,” Wavestone said. “I hear you find things.” His eyes gleamed and the emphasis on the word “find” sent a sharp chill up my spine. Brendan Wavestone knew things, but just what wasn’t clear to me. “If the law is just, then my children will be incarcerated for life. Unfortunately, my ex-wife is wealthy enough to hire the finest legal counsel money can buy, so there’s a good chance they will beat the rap.”

  Wavestone was still smiling, but his eyes had gone hard. “Therefore, my advice is for you to take care. They know you played a part in turning them in, and they have long memories.”

  I gaped at him. Any attempt at language was pointless. I had no idea what to say to this man who reminded me of a shark dressed in a suit. I shuddered. There was so much behind his smile, but like sun glinting on water, I could not see below the surface.

  Wavestone presented me with his business card. “If you should ever need anything, I’m just a call away. Small world that you should be dating my friend Isabella Sorensen’s daughter.” He smiled and added, “She was livid, by the way, so you best beware of her, too.”

  With a quick nod of his head, Brendan Wavestone strode out the door.

  “Pleasant, isn’t he?” Agent Reston wore a vague scowl and waved a hand in front of her as if clearing the air of a foul odor. “I wonder if he bathes in his cologne. I’m certain he does that for my benefit.”

  I felt the heat creep up the back of my neck. “Will someone explain what the hell’s going on here? I feel like I’m a ball of yarn and you’re the cats. What do you want with me?”

  Agent Reston clasped her hands and smiled. “Relax, Bobby. Just delight in the fact that you solved the crime. And passed the test.”

  Then the doors swished opened again, and in walked Jeremy Glass.

  33

  Jeremy

  Sunday: 2:40 AM

  When they helped me hop over to the police cruiser, I expected to be taken directly to jail, do not pass go. Instead, I was deposited in a clinic that seemed to be a high-end spa for the rich recovering from plastic surgery. Giant chandeliers dripped
from the ceiling, the lights kept low to play down the swollen and bruised flesh of the clinic’s constituents. Young men and women in black uniforms padded the floor pushing champagne, coffee, or tea.

  The procedure took less than an hour, but by the time it was over, the doctors had fixed whatever was out of whack with the stump and shot me up with painkillers and steroids. A team of technicians had fitted me with a sleek black plastic leg I named Veronique. They’d also cleaned Veronica so I could take her back home with me.

  Veronique was so high-tech, I could bend, lunge, and even do the Harlem Shake with her. I was reunited with Marisa. She’d been cleared of any wrongdoing and no one asked her to testify about her attack.

  We fell into each other’s arms and hugged like we meant it.

  Maybe this might not be the breakup weekend after all, but we both knew it was coming soon.

  ◆

  When the two agents, Fray and Kramer, had presented me with the paper to sign, at first I had to peer closer to make sure I’d read correctly. My college tuition paid in full, free housing for life, and a yearly salary that made my dad’s look like a joke. I wouldn’t have to

  do much, they said, just be available for occasional missions.

  They’d asked me if I needed time to think.

  I asked them if they were joking and did they have a pen.

  ◆

  When I was led into the nondescript conference room, Bobby was sitting there staring at his knuckles. He looked like he hadn’t slept since the night we’d met. I didn’t think he had.

  His eyes zeroed in on me like cold blue lasers. He knew at first glance that I’d sold out.

  Did I really have any choice? When they fit me with the most advanced prosthetic leg in the known world for nothing if I signed on the dotted line, how could I refuse? It was either that or a life on crutches.

  Bobby could afford to play the diva. He could see—sort of. He could walk. He had actual talent besides being a psychic detective. All I had was a big mouth and the ability to run, and now, thanks to bone spurs, my running days, the doctors had told me, were over.